This rather staggered me—I'd not been expecting anything of the kind—but I had sense enough to stammer out, "Thank you very much, sir," before he went away, and went off to find Whitmore, and to get Hoffman to assist us as well.
PLAN OF CREEK. (HECTOR ISLAND)
Whitmore was wildly excited; but he is a good deal younger than I am, and hasn't a wife to worry about, and I have, and a couple of youngsters too, which makes a good deal of difference.
Hoffman shook his head when he heard of the job, but gave us all the information he could. The six-inch gun, he told us, was mounted behind an open earthwork, on some rising ground, about five hundred yards from the little battery at the water's edge, the one that had fired at our boats on the first night.
He drew the rough plan which I show you opposite, and which I have lettered, so that you can understand more easily where we had to go and what we had to do.
Our first idea was to land clear of the battery and advance straight towards the six-inch gun; but Hoffman said that there were many native fishermen's huts all along the beach, and that we should wake their dogs before we'd gone five yards. Even if we did get past them, the ground between was a swamp, and after the continuous downpour of the last few days we should never get through it at night.
He sent for his Chinamen to help him, and apparently they were of the same opinion.
"How about landing on the other side of the island and approaching it from the rear?" I asked. He shook his head. "There are huts all over the island, and where there are huts there are dogs, and you'd wake every dog for miles. There's not the faintest chance of your rushing it and surprising the people there."
I scratched my head. I didn't like the job a little bit; but the Skipper had said it was to be done, so that was the end of it—it had to be done.